


All We Do Is Drive

by Amberly



Series: Just Like Heaven [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied Violence, Panic Attack, Pining, Present Tense, Unrequited, halsey-freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 21:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberly/pseuds/Amberly
Summary: All they do is drive. But it’s enough.It has to be.





	All We Do Is Drive

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Hello! This unbeta'd ficlet is part of the Halsey collection, which is linked here! This is my first installment of a loosely connected set of ficlets of varying length, based on different Halsey songs. The inspiration for this fic is "Drive," of Badlands. Not that this fic went anywhere I thought it would go--I kinda let it write itself. 
> 
> Mostly, I wanted to capture two things: the comfort of having a friend you can just drive with (regardless of talking, especially after fucked up shit goes down), and the weird Almost space, when that shared intimacy starts to feel like it could be something more and everything gets confused. I'm not sure if these are universal feelings, but they're definitely ones I'm familiar with, and this song really captured that for me. 
> 
> Of course, these are the Gundam Wing boys, so there's a little more than just that going on. ^_~

They don’t speak. Leave the office side by side, door snicking shut behind them. The conversation goes like this Wufei raises an eyebrow and Duo jingles his keys and they head towards the elevator as one. After fourteen days in desert grit, Duo needs the long way home. He needs open roads. Wufei’s approval is silent, palpable as he turned left instead of right out of the Preventer’s garage, an anchor giving just enough life to cut through the lingering loneliness of a mission. The slow loss of self that comes with undercover. 

The city is no place to drive. It’s lights and people and the overwhelming closeness of buildings, stuck together like cans. Too much after the silence of sand and stars. There’s no room to breathe. Just the constant reminder that they still have to fight. That there’s still something to fight for and their work isn’t done and they can’t rest--not yet. Wufei loosens his tie, unbuttons his regulation uniform shirt and rests back against the passenger seat. The white of his undershirt gleams in the darkness, and Duo pushes the car faster, whips it onto the interstate as he heads out of Brussels. Wufei can feel the steady hum of the car around them, the low throb of whatever music Duo has playing. Cracking an eye open, he looks across the center console. Takes in white knuckles and a clenched jaw and reaches for the dial, turning it up until the windows rattle. 

“We don’t have to,” Duo is barely audible over the heavy bass. Wufei already knows what he’s going to say. He’s already snorting and turning his head, staring at the window at the slowly dissolving suburbs. Duo says nothing else. He doesn’t need to. Instead he takes one hand off the wheel, grabs the pack of cloves from the console. The windows inch down, letting in in cool autumn air, the scent of leaves changing. It fills the car, has Wufei’s hair wisping around his face, and it’s almost too much. His profile in the moonlight, the steadiness of his silence. The smoke is simple, filling his lungs. It eases the emptiness, the knot under Duo’s ribs loosening. 

He doesn’t know when this started. He remembers L1. A crumbling church and the scent of scalded incense. The way Wufei’s hands had felt, wrapping around his wrist, drawing him to the car. “Home, Maxwell.” Two words and they’d formed a ritual, something Duo could almost believe helped. Somehow he slept better after, like he’d been running instead of driving. He could tell by the silence: this time was too much. This time they were both wounded, torn open by the violence simmering just beneath their skin. Under the scent of cloves and hot pavement Duo can still smell it. Thick and tangy with metal, in his hair and over his hands and Duo inhales sharply. Too much. 

When he reaches for another clove, Wufei’s hand is already there. Duo jerks his hand back as if burned, inhaling sharply through his nose at the warmth. It’s a tingle he’s already familiar with, and he feels sick. It’s not the time. It’s never time, and Duo wants and doesn’t want, going back for his clove with trembling fingers. He props a knee against the steering wheel as he drives, keeps it steady, black eyes fever-bright and fixed on him as he lights up. As he takes another first hit and lets out a stream of smoke, head falling back against the seat, eyes shut. Wufei will watch. Wufei always watches. The road, the other agents. Sometimes he watches Duo under his lashes, or through reflection. Subtle, barely there, but too much for someone who lived on the street to miss. With his eyes closed he feels it again. The prickle between his shoulderblades, the way his cheeks heat. The last person to watch him like this had fucked him, and Duo thrills and cringes because this is Wufei but it’s also  _ Wufei,  _ and he isn’t supposed to want so much.

Duo exhales and opens his eyes and takes the wheel, the empty road still stretching before them. Their drive is suddenly too much and not enough, endless hours in the private world of the road crushing in on him like boulders. Like a collapsing building. A crushed car. He is hitched breath, a sudden tightness in his chest and burning eyes, everything blurring. If he has hands they’re too tight. He knows that because they hurt, everything hurts, pulse a riot as the car starts to swerve and this is it, he’s made it through Hell and more Hell to die at the wheel because he lacks control, already bracing for impact and--

“Duo.” 

Soft. Wufei’s hands on the wheel. Wufei’s breath, wafting against his cheek as he leans over, guiding the car off the road. Duo is hot and cold and the car is too close, shirt damp. His foot’s already off the gas, the car already stopping, and Duo doesn’t wait for it to be in park. He’s out, standing in the grass with his hands on his knees, head lowered, eyes shut. What he remembers are bodies. What he sees are small fingers and tiny toes and a loose blond curl over a chubby cheek, and he’s retching, finally, empty stomach heaving as he crouches down, nails digging into the fabric of his pants. He opens his eyes for the change of scenery, staring down at browned grass with desperation. 

Wufei’s hand is cold on the back of his neck. It settles there like it belongs, and Duo wants it to with the same fierceness with which he wanted to save--It cuts off, violently, like a lost limb. He can still feel the pain of the unfinished thought. The fingers on his neck stroke gently, the scent of cloves and shampoo and Wufei’s detergent settling close. It lets him breath. Let’s Duo gasp for air, looking up at his partner mutely. Wufei’s silence is enough. It’s always enough and the thought almost makes him want to choke again. He swallows instead. The hand moves from his neck to the front of his shirt, Wufei hauling him up, and Duo goes without question or complaint. 

A mistake. He stumbles, is too close suddenly, hand on Wufei’s hip, the hands on his shirts tightening in an attempt to steady him. Instead Duo is spinning, dazed and caught in the dark fan of Wufei’s eyelashes. The perfectly formed cupid’s bow of his lips. He stares, wetting his lips, swaying just a little. Just enough to break the moment. 

“Shit. Sorry,” breathless and frazzled as he pulls away. Duo runs a hand over his bangs and looks at the car, still running, hazzard lights on. The music is off, the open door alarm ringing in night. Wufei squeezes his shoulder. It’s more than enough. What they have is more than enough, stolen already from a war they shouldn’t have survived. Duo takes a deep breath. “Dammit. I bet I lost that clove.” 

Wufei rolls his eyes and snorts. His lips are quirked, a fond look Duo’s so familiar with he sees it at night, in his dreams. Sees it at night when he lets his hand slip under the sheets. He flushes and shakes his head. It’s adrenaline. It’s adrenaline and the post-mission need for contact, because that’s what it has to be. Wufei is head back to the car, making his way towards the driver’s side. 

“We can light you another one,” he says, amused and fond and everything Duo needs him not to be. Flashing a crooked grin, Duo follows. Slides in and buckles up and looks across the center console. Takes in a clenched jaw, white knuckles. The dark wisp of hair curling over his cheek. All they do is drive. But it’s enough. 

It has to be. 


End file.
